The Dragon Prince's Consort

Fourteen

Spinning a wooden training pole, Valen swept it to the side and hissed as Freya blocked it with her own. The poles clacked together with a flat sound and Valen switched hands, shaking the one that started to buzz from Freya's strike. "No point," Freya declared, flipping her stick over and planting the end in the floor mat. "I hate to say it, Your Grace, but you miss a few days of practice and it's like you lost two years."

Valen mopped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "I've been busy," he said, taking a defensive stance. His tail lashed and his toes curled into the mat, preparing for one of Freya's savage charges; his ankle smarted from an earlier smack from her tail, but it would hold. Freya had been training with him since they were children, she knew what he was capable of and had a right to be disappointed – a week ago he'd disarmed her within seconds and wielded her weapon as well as his own, today he was slow and distracted.

"Too busy to pick up a stick?" The charge he was expecting came, and Valen blocked the first hit but not the second. Thwack! His stick went tumbling and Valen ducked to retrieve it. Freya chased him across the mat, swiping at his feet as he scrambled. "Or have you been spending more time in bed lately?"

"Your mother's mouth has legs," Valen jibed, and he swiped at his face again but this time he was covering his embarrassment. Of course Ben knew what we were doing, she's not stupid. He was just glad Benna's interruption hadn't put the fire completely out – last night had been... wonderful, even better than his birthday. I'm choosing this, I'm choosing you. Valen's hearts had stumbled into each other when she said those words. However long this colony takes, as long as your dad says I have to stay here, I'm going to choose you... It was an incredible feeling – no one had ever chosen him before. That his brother had somehow found the one woman who would choose him seemed nothing short of miraculous.

Freya swiped at his stick as he brought it up, knocking it away. "Mother's mouth may have legs, but it walks a straight path."

"Yeah, yeah. Ow!" he yelped, taking a whack to his forearm.

"Focus!" Freya twirled her stick again, taking the fortress stance, sliding one foot back on the mat and presenting her pole at an opposite angle to her body; her long tail lashed impatiently behind her. "I won't go easy on you because you're a Dragon Prince!"

"I don't expect it," Valen grunted, rubbing his arm. Freya wasn't supposed to hold back during training or conditioning for his sake because he was small – rather, because of his size Freya pushed much harder. And while her fortress stance was nigh-impenetrable by a normal-sized Drass, Valen saw an opening that was perfect for one his size. And I won't go easy on you either! Valen kicked his pole, flipping it into the air and catching it on with hand. While Freya was distracted he spun, swept low, whipped out his tail and looped the end around Freya's wrist. He dropped into a tumble, tucking his head, and used the weight of his body to jerk her hand free. She made to grab the pole as it slipped out of her grasp but Valen rolled to his feet knocked it away, tapping her on the shoulder with his stick. "Point!"

"That was a dirty trick," his sparring partner hissed.

"A trick, or did you let your guard down because I haven't been at practice?" He bent and returned Freya's pole, mopping again at his forehead. "Again!" Valen demanded. Freya grinned and spun the pole overhead, humming as it sliced the warm, close air of the conditioning gym. Valen bounced backward over the springy mat, his tail sweeping behind him and his pole held across his chest. As he settled into his own fortress stance, Valen glanced over Freya's shoulder and spied Tias entering the pitch. Huge, broad-chested, his big square head a red boulder atop a grey conditioning tunic stretched tight by his massive neck and shoulders, Tias pounded across the mats towards the ancient but deceptively deadly swordmaster Bukan. Tias picked a training "blade" from the rack, a mockup of a real Drass longsword, and gave it a wheeling spin around his forearm.